Wine
by casuallllfollower
Summary: Christine got Erik a present, but he doesn't seem to care for it all that much.


_A/N: Short and sweet little fluffball that has been in my mind for a few days now, and is a bit of a touch into reality for the masked man and his soprano._

Christine glanced at the half-empty glass on her husband's side of the table and frowned. She had been listening in on multiple conversations between him and Nadir for this specific information over the past few months. It was his favorite wine.

Should she have been listening into the talks… or arguments as they so fondly battled wits? Probably not, but what else was she supposed to do as their first anniversary approached and she had nothing to give the man but her voice and her body? And he already had those.

Erik did not seem particularly interested in the red liquid, his eyes glancing up to hers furtively as if attempting to ask without speaking. He wanted her, this she knew and reciprocated quite heavily, but Christine simply could not get past why he did not like the wine he had proclaimed was his favorite!

She had paid for it by using her own salary from the opera house, and while those demons had long been out to rest, Christine cringed still every time she saw Raoul in his box.

They hadn't split very well, their love moreover resting on nostalgia, and when the nostalgia had weakened and become evanescent, she had left.

Erik was never dull, but he did have his moments where he was completely unchanged. He would sit at the piano for hours, enthralled in the music and not speak a word. The constant melodies were appreciated, as they made wonderful concentration for her reading. He would scorn her, though, when they had played and read far past dinner or even one evening, breakfast. He'd merely kissed her and got up to cook, his skills the only reason _she _had any at all. Growing up in the opera house left her little opportunities to make a meal.

Christine poured her third glass of wine and stared her deformed husband down as she did so. This evening she had cooked the feast for their anniversary, his playing a happy tune to her wifely ministrations. She'd placed the hidden bottle of wine on the table, and when she invited him in, her heart had soared to see him so happily welcome a glass of it.

And now, he did not drink.

She sighed, taking a large gulp of the alcohol, and placing the crystal back down a lot harder than she had meant. Well… maybe that wasn't entirely true, and the correct response of worry came from her husband.

"Christine, my darling, is everything alright? I was under the impression the evening was going well. I've had so little to celebrate over the years, you must understand why I wouldn't want something hindering such a happy day."

She remembered Christmas just a few months ago and rolled her eyes at him. Now that had been such a wonderful day! And he'd had a glass of scotch in his hand all day, just as Nadir had. Christine didn't think it was too much to ask that he give her the same courtesy of enjoying the drink in her presence! In fact, she did so love when he was drunk.

She had no idea how many he'd had during the New Year's party in the opera, but Christine knew that he was intoxicated when he'd sequestered her away on a balcony and had his way with her. The daroga had popped outside to find their Prima Donna and her shifty husband just barely reclothed in time to receive him.

"I simply-" There was nothing much to say without sounding completely petty.

Christine knew she needn't give him anything for their day, but she knew he would provide her with a gift, and he had. Under her dress was a lovely shift that felt like silk against her skin, the fabric sheer yet positively comforting below her tight corset. Her love for the garment, and him, knew no bounds, and Christine was happy to have the possibility of giving that same courtesy back.

It seemed, however, that he was remiss to accept anything from her that wasn't what he received almost every other night since they'd been coupled.

"Something is the matter, you cannot stop there, Christine." He rushed to her side of the dining table and knelt at her right, reminding her of when he'd proposed so soon after she came back to him.

It had been most welcome, too, and her heart smiled at the thought, despite how jilted she felt at his lack of interest in her present.

With a heavy groan, Christine relented.

"I just do not understand why you haven't drank the wine I bought you! I spent months listening to you banter with Monsieur Khan to gain the knowledge of your favorite drink for the evening, and yet you have had roughly half the glass!"

She closed her eyes, feeling mightily childish as Erik chuckled below her.

A quick glare caused him to clear his throat in remiss, and taking her hand, he stood, opening his arms as though to accept a theater full of praise.

"Tell me, how much would you estimate that I weigh?"

Not entirely sure how relevant this information was, Christine shook her head, attempting to think of something that would not show him how truly dim she was.

"I don't know… sixty or seventy kilograms? No one really knows how much they weigh, Erik," she rambled, looking at her husband oddly, "And besides, what does that have anything to do with your consumption of the wine I so painstakingly acquired for you?"

Tears were nearly falling, now, and she felt terrible for ruining their anniversary dinner with her silliness.

"My love," he admonished soothingly, a callous hand to her face, "It matters because you grossly over estimated how much I weigh. If I had to guess it is somewhere in the forty to fifty range. And you, well, despite the fact that I can carry you, you might weigh just a few more kilograms than me, my dove. No offense, of course, you merely have the normal skin and bone of a woman… in addition to the strengthened muscles of a dancer which add to your weight. I have none of those things.

"And well, weight, my darling, greatly affects how much a person can drink. You notice the heftier men like the old managers would need a lot of drink to get them to an inebriated state, while our pesky Daroga or your even peskier former-fiance need maybe only a few drinks.

"I, on the other hand, can drink a glass of wine, or sip two good fingers of scotch… and I do not touch ale, but I imagine I could only consume one of those as well. You see, my love, I did not neglect your extremely thoughtful gift because I deplored the drink, it is because if I drank more than the one glass I have been cherishing as I sit across from the most beautiful woman in the world, then I would soon be in a bad state which is not fortuitous to the activities we both so enjoy."

He had pushed a finger under her chin, and Christine felt completely ignorant in the wake of his great knowledge.

"Oh, I am sorry, Erik! I did not want to insult you, but I merely wanted you to love what I had given you! I am glad to hear regardless that you cared for it."

A nod, and then his lips to hers, and she felt much better than previously about the evening.

"Now that your little offense is settled, I shall finish my wine, pour another, and sip it once we have properly un-made the bed?" He suggested heavily, and with a wicked grin, she smiled, finishing her own wine as well as pure bliss was soon to come from her husband who had very much loved her gift.


End file.
